Fictions Are Genius Lies
by dante de cervantes
Summary: Chap 6 is up! Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal, bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They’re all threads to an intricate web of disaster. TVverse. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH
1. Calm Before the Storm

Title: Fictions Are Genius Lies

Title: Fictions Are Genius Lies  
Author: dante de cervantes  
Fandom: Gossip Girl  
Pairing: lotsa pairings! But there will be surefire Waldsen!  
Rating: T (as for now)  
Summary: Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal and bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They're all threads to an intricate web of disaster. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH

Author's Notes: Greatly pissed because there are reports that Blake and Penn are going out… How sad…Wrote this after seeing some clips of _School Lies_ and too much _Cruel Intentions_. Hope you guys like the pilot chapter. And please review if you think I should write more, or if you like it, or whatever's on your mind…

Disclaimer: I only own the plot and this story… Lovely characters belong to someone else…

**Fictions Are Genius Lies**

_**by dante de cervantes**_

**PART I: Calm Before The Storm**

According to your sources, she worked in a coffee shop downtown.

A bell over the door rings as you walk into this place they call a business.

"The sign outside says you want some help."

Vanessa Abrams stops wiping the counter clean to find Charles Bass wearing a contrastingly dirty smile.

She looks worried.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Chuck Bass.._tard._"

But apparently, she's not afraid.

"Docugirl!" you greet back with just as much enthusiasm.

"Is this really how you treat your customers?" you ask disapprovingly at her.

"We're closing." She says, indicating the empty store.

"Aww… C'mon, just one coffee?"

"Pay you triple, quadruple even?" You negotiate, putting on your most convincing smile.

Her eyes roll north and she does a 180 so all you can see is the back of her ugly-ass poncho and the knot that ties her apron together.

"And if you throw in the tape …" she turns around and you catch her eye. You look at her like you're honest-to-God serious about what you were going to say next

"…I _swear_ that I'll give you anything you want…"

Her lips purse in skepticism. That's not always a good sign.

"Anything." You repeat, because maybe Vanessa is one of those people who couldn't afford the simple luxury of cotton swabs.

This time, she's actually listening to you. And you can tell by the way her eyes glazed that she wants something real, real bad.

Life is a business. A guy has got to know how to ease his way to the top by letting his promises pay for the benefits. Promises do the trick. That's how ironic it is.

"Do you want it black?"

You nod in approval and just like that, your pawn was put into play.

- - -

"I want Dan back…" she confesses frankly while she sets your order onto the table, her voice devoid of emotion. What do we have here? A charity case with a poker face?

Ah, finally, an honest person.

And honestly, you don't see what girls see in Humphrey. What's attractive about a deep, poetic, self-righteous fag ('who punches you occasionally', the ghost of your black eye reminds)?

You take a sip of your coffee. Cheap, like all things downtown.

Your silence gets her concerned but she tries to cover that up.

"Does it sound impossible?" her tone like a little hopeful girl's. "Do I have to go to Agent Ethan Hunt?"

Surprisingly, you laugh. The unexpected rumble in your throat causes you to choke on your coffee for a bit.

"You should be grateful that I've seen Mission Impossible… else that wouldn't have been humorous at all."

You dig your jacket for your pack of cigarettes. After the near-death-incident you weren't really up for caffeine.

"Everybody's seen MI." She states, like it's a fact.

Wrong. Nate hates Tom Cruise, he refuses to watch anything with the Jerry McGuire star in it. You should know, you've convinced him to watch Minority Report since you were thirteen.

"May I remind you that I'm not everybody?" you say coldly, being an absolute bitch.

"Should I remind you to get off your high horse and that I'm the one who has the tape?"

"Oh, I'm aware that you have the tape." you assure her. But no way in hell were you going to dismount your Bass bronco.

She's haughty, complacent with the fact that she has the momentary advantage. "Care to enlighten me about your plan and how it will take you one step closer to the only copy of Blair Waldorf's pseudo-confession?"

One copy. Good.

No plan yet. Bad.

Oh come on, even you couldn't think that fast. Who does she think you are? Her fairy godmother? Did you walk in here in a dress, matching hat and twittering wings, waving your wand like Humphrey's going to appear from out of nowhere in any second?

You light up a cig, "Why aren't you taking the initiative? Steal him from Serena?" the smoke puffing out decreasingly with every word.

"Because your girlfriend's breathing down my neck. She really shows her over-protectiveness of Serena in the weirdest ways." She pauses, probably to recollect her Blair-blessed memories. She takes a great intake of breath and lets it out with a "She threatened me _with a pair of scissors._" Confused about whether she should be amused or bothered by it.

If you were her, not saying that you want to be her or anything, you don't want to be a girl, much less a girl who works here because she _has_ to… but if you were her, you'd be amused.

And your thoughts going completely off-topic here but…

If you have to be a girl, you'd want to be Serena. Because you and Serena are alike, in the way you guys fucked up. It's just that, Blair forgets all about it when Serena fucks up. And you could use some sympathy here…

It's even more effed up that the whore's still her best friend.

Now there definitely has to be some weird, equally effed up reason for that.

And you, you have to know everything. On top of that list, is why Blair forgave S. Because BF since pre-k doesn't get you a free pass into Blair's welcome arms after you slept with her boyfriend. That's just not how the normal world works.

Speaking of fucked up, so Blair threatened dear Vanessa here with an art-attack kit? How creative…

"Scissors, huh?"

She rolls her eyes at you, an affirmative, while you close yours and imagine Blair holding something other than any body appendage of yours.

"That's my psycho-bitch." You say proudly, tapping the cigarette's embers into an ashtray she brought you (along with the plain white mug of black coffee that tasted like crap).

She smiles sheepishly which causes you to ask about her sudden display of non-hostility.

"You know what? That I actually agree with."

"You know what?" you echo. "I think we might just get along."

"We might?" she repeats questioningly, slightly shocked that you said that.

You don't know. You say things, it doesn't mean that you have to mean them…

But another question should be pondered upon. And the answer is impertinent.

How to sabotage the relationship that is Dan and Serena?

What went wrong with the Prince and the Pauper? How in the world of the rich and the poor did they end up together? Because it was so clearly obvious that the Prince's sight should've never been desecrated by the pauper's presence in the first place.

Your thoughts start grumbling, 'Dumb story…'

DanandSerena is like 1+1 equals 11. They're together, but they don't add up.

So Serena's a slut, but a rich slut deserves better.

That is it!

You need to find Serena a 'better' with whom she will have an outrageously mind-blowing affair with so LonelyBoy will come running(with tears, you wish) back to DocuGirl's arms.

And the leading candidate for that 'better' is a certain overprotective best friend.

You smile. You admit, though it's a tad sketchy at the moment, it is still congruent enough to be called a plan. You could always go back to the drawing board later.

But the 'better' was already written with a permanent marker.

"Yes, Vanessa. We just might."

* * *

He's finally back from Monaco and you're reluctantly back from your fairytale escape of a holiday.

He called you earlier that morning, said he wanted to talk.

And now you're here, eyeing his famous Babe Ruth ball while he's in the shower… Or whatever he was doing in there. Because, this was _Chuck_ we were talking about.

When he comes out, he has nothing but a towel on.

Is this his idea of cute?

Not that you're totally ungrateful that he didn't go out naked it's just…

You'd rather look at the Babe Ruth ball, not the Chuck Bass ones. You've seen his more than enough already.

"Wait long?"

"The fact that I _waited_ should make you crawl to your grave right now." You inform him.

He holds his hands up like a criminal caught. It feels like you were holding a gun to his face. And that feeling pleases you very greatly for the moment.

"Let me at least come clean." He jokes with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

You put on a sneer, "Get dressed."

He walks back into the living area in slacks and a crisp long-sleeved shirt. He sits down on the couch to put his socks on. He sees you standing there with your arms cross and he pats the space next to him on the couch.

"Don't you want to sit?"

Chuck notices you're unwilling to even touch any of his expensive European upholstery. He purses his lips into a coy pout-smirk that only a boy like Chuck Bass can pull off, "Or have you changed your mind? Want me in that bed with you?" he asks cockily in between putting his left and right sock on, glancing at the bed right across the couch.

Chuck Bass was.is.will-probably-always-be a bastard.

You sit at one of the chairs in front of him instead. Maybe nothing bad will happen if you were on different pieces of furniture.

The question has bugged you long enough for it not to be asked, "Have you told Nate?"

"No…" you feel a momentary wave of relief until he says, "Well, not _yet_."

"He was going on and on about how great things were between the both of you. I didn't want to spoil his party over the holidays. Nathaniel is just the dearest after he's had sex." He quickly narrates, looking you in the eye, quietly challenging you to jump over the coffee table and strangle him senseless because at least, you'd be touching him.

And you know that's what he really wants. For you to touch him again.

You cross your legs and arms, unsure of yourself.

"Why so quiet Blair? I'm not really in the mood for follow the leader. See, I know how to kiss, and I know how to tell."

Chuck pushes himself off the couch and walks to his closet to pull out a bowtie. He sits in front of his vanity and he flings the tie over his neck expertly.

"Knowing that the both of us have too much cash in our hands, it'd be absurd for you to buy my silence." He pulls the bow into a perfect tie and it looks like he almost wants to pat himself on the head for a job-well-done. You wonder if that is the only source of happiness he has left.

He turns on his stool to face you, "That's why the only option you have... Is to _win_ my silence."

You suddenly tense in apprehension. Certainly, when Chuck's in one of his I-rule-the-world moods, it doesn't benefit anyone but Chuck himself.

"What about the tape?" you ask, more concerned about the cold, hard proof and how you don't want Nate to see it in his life, ever.

His eyes flash something unreadable and for a second there you're hoping that he doesn't have the tape. But knowing Chuck, there would be loaded dice. He plays not to win, but to see people lose.

His voice is cool, calm and collected, "The footage is secure."

It doesn't sound like he's lying so basically… the feeling you have right now is a mix of suicidal and obsessive-compulsive. It's as if Hiroshima and Nagasaki decided to do a re-enactment inside your head at the same time.

But of course, you weren't going to let him see that.

"And if you don't want Nate seeing a second of the tape, I suggest you play a little game with me." He says tauntingly, inclined towards you with his elbows resting on his knees.

"So what do you say? Up for a little wager, Waldorf?"

Betting with a Bass always turns out to be very ugly for the contender. But like he said, you have one option left. And that is to play his 'little game' just as ruthlessly as he calls the shots.

"The terms?" you ask, signifying your possible participation.

He smiles back, lecherously. He's probably thought about this all winter. And he starts with his evil monologue.

"You were aware that father proposed to Lily van der Woodsen last Christmas, right? Well, turns out, Lily's still in love with Rufus Humphrey and she turned my old man down. And he took it out on me when he arrived at Monaco… Let's just say that it wasn't the best Christmas, you breaking my heart and all."

He says every word like he isn't upset. You're good at that too, guarding your emotions like they were diamonds and dresses. Save for some times with Serena and Nate. It bothers you more when one of them lets you down.

"It's kind of sad, the Humphrey's taking over…"

"So?" you ask, still unable to connect the dots.

"I don't want that happening to our generation." He replies spitefully. But he doesn't seem to stop there, "Jennifer and Daniel have done their fair share of serf-rebellion, it's ridiculous really… how they think I can't get back at them…"

You know where this was coming from, you feel the same thing. Your throne as Constance Billard Queen constantly being threatened by Little J and Dan, he threatened your bestfriend-ship with Serena.

And as much as you hate to admit, you dislike Dan more… You only put up with him for Serena's sake.

She needs someone who'll take care of her in every aspect thinkable… who'll take her home when she's nonsensically drunk, who'll be able to pay for her occasional jet-setting sprees, who'll hold her hand when she's at the dentist as she detests any kind of oral pain, who gets along with Eric because she looks up to him more than he does her, who'll watch Breakfast at Tiffany's over coffee and croissants with her for the reason that she loves those Sunday mornings as much as you do...

Pretty soon, Serena will have to realize that Dan Humphrey can't give her all that.

"…But Daniel… I hate his guts."

Chuck seems to agree with you too, his black eye making him sure of that.

"If you win, I give you the tape and you are free to do whatever you please with it."

You give him a slight nod that indicated your understanding and for him to continue dishing out the other part of the bargain.

"If _I_ win…" he starts cockily, thinking he probably will, "…then I keep the tape, maybe show it to Nate one day, before Valentine's? Let's see how he'll react to hear that his pure and honest girlfriend of many years _slept_ with his best friend who bangs anything in his field of vision… But when he knows that you faked the V-card on him, it'll get him so riled up."

"Get me another Carter Baizen, Nate needs to take it out on somebody!" and he throws his hands up in the air, feigning panic.

Beneath your icy façade, you were frowning. You finally realize just how high the stakes are.

"Think about it…" he advises before grabbing a comb on the table.

If you want to keep Nate, then there's no other choice…

Through a dry throat, you manage to find your voice. "What do I have to do?"

Chuck doesn't answer yet.

You wait until after every strand on his head is in its proper place. After which, he takes a hand and runs it through his hair, achieving the desired effect of 'elegantly dishevelled'.

Then he answers you.

"I want Dan so ruined that he has to crawl back to Brooklyn. He has no business here in the Upper East Side."

Sure, Dan's a morally positive influence to everyone, especially to your best friend… but if he were to go away, you'd have your _fully_ devoted Serena back.

You find the idea appealing and you try to hold back on the enthusiasm as you ask, "And how do I ruin Dan Humphrey?"

"Simple. By sleeping with Serena." He states plainly, like it's the most normal thing in the universe.

What the fuck, Chuck?!

You get up in outrage and make you way to him. You tower over him on his stool threateningly.

He knows that he ruined every chance he had with you. So why not try and make your life a living hell?

"What's wrong with you, Bass?!" you yell at him, exasperated, done with being cordial.

"What's _not_ wrong with me?" he shoots back, he stands so that the both of you are leveled. Thank God you chose not to wear your Lanvin ballet flats, they wouldn't have helped in this situation.

He grabs your arm in a rude fashion that it disorients you for a second. Then he kisses you. Rough and hard and desperate. You remember the limo and your birthday, alcohol and jewelry, the fight you had with Serena because she found out… Nate not being there…

But he loves you again, and you have to do everything in your power for him to not see that tape.

So you push Chuck off… harshly. He stumbles backwards and knocks over the stool by accident.

"You were the best I've ever had, Blair." He suddenly tells you in his dishevelled state.

What's funny is… he looks like he doesn't believe that the words came out of his mouth. You stare at him in a mixture of disgust and pity, never thinking that a Bass could be looked upon like that.

"I think I'd much prefer doing my best friend than getting in bed with you any day." You say quietly, but with a tinge of guilt for bringing S into it.

And by the looks of it, you hurt him.

His expression changes and pain is dropped immediately, he straightens himself out. This is how the best of the UES work. Nobody can remember what they look like when displeased.

"So I take it that you're in on the bet?"

You don't know. You couldn't do that to Serena.

"It's sick." You point out to him.

"No, it's _Sapphic_."

You slap him with all the strength a recent manicure allows that his face snaps to the side.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Waldorf." He groans angrily while cupping his face.

You hurry for the door, sometimes his shit is just too much to take in one sitting.

"I can always ask Nate to come by later, maybe watch some home videos?" he chips in, stopping you from turning the knob.

Your hand drops to your side in submission.

"Why me?" you ask, your voice cracking and you want to kill yourself for displaying such a shameful sign of weakness.

His expression doesn't soften as he answers you, "You see, I want you wrecked too. Because I know that it hurts you just as much when you hurt Serena."

You bite your bottom lip to keep it from shaking, wishing the pain will stop you from crying. It's the truth. Unfortunately, Chuck had to be one to tell you that.

"And to think that you'd be doing it to keep Nate. It'll probably feel like getting your heart broken too."

Your cheeks are wet and you wipe the dampness off in self-resentment.

Nate and Serena both mean the world to you. And Chuck is making you choose one over the other… All because you slept with a Bass.

The perfect revenge. And you weren't even the one who thought about it.

"Do I have myself a bet?" he questions, holding out his hand.

Nathaniel Archibald has always been your future. And you choose sensibility.

The groom over the maid of honor.

Your hand is wet and you share its dampness with Chuck Bass as you shake his.

He plays not to win, but to see people lose.

But you're Blair Waldorf.

And you were going to make damn sure that you weren't going down without a fight.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Come on and make my day, feedback guys…ü


	2. To Keep From Drowning

**Title:** Fictions Are Genius Lies  
**Author:** dante de cervantes  
**Fandom:** Gossip Girl  
**Pairing:** lotsa pairings! But there will be surefire Waldsen!  
**Rating:** T (as for now)  
**Summary:** Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal and bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They're all threads to an intricate web of disaster. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH

**Author's Note** Greatly pissed because there are reports that Blake and Penn are going out… How sad…Wrote this after seeing some clips of _School Lies_ and too much _Cruel Intentions_. Hope you guys like the pilot chapter. And please review if you think I should write more, or if you like it, or whatever's on your mind…

**Second Author's Note:** Okay, some of the events of recent eps don't coincide with my fic… Like Lily and the post-engagement getaway, Blair paying Vanessa's rent. And completely disregard Episode 13, please. This story will work itself out… Just to remind you guys.

**Disclaimer:** I only own the plot and this story… Lovely characters belong to someone else…

* * *

**Fictions Are Genius Lies**

_**by dante de cervantes**_

**PART II: To Keep From Drowning**

* * *

You seldom visit the Palace. Who is there to see? Chuck? Surely not. And Serena? She's either at school (with you), going shopping (with you), looking effortlessly amazing while strolling the city (with you), making the Brownstone a less boring place (with you), or as of late… on dates (with Humphrey). The point is, she comes to you so you don't even have to think about coming to her.

So that's why you're unaccustomed to knocking on the door to their suite.

"Oh, Blair!" he says, his eyes wide in surprise. You, being the last person he expects to be standing in front of him.

"Hey, Eric." You greet back cheerfully. Okay, so he isn't Serena but you could not deny that you miss messing around with his hair ("Why don't we have Gregor dye your hair while I get a pedicure?").

"Right, manners!" he remembers, smacking himself on the head comically for forgetting.

"Come in," he invites, opening the door fully.

You walk in and can't help bringing up the subject of his not-so-vdW hair, "Your roots are prominent."

"Your ends are still dry." He retaliates back lightly, busy locking the door.

You let out a laugh and smile. "You know what? I'd marry you if you weren't fourteen and Serena's little brother."

"Then thank God I'm fourteen and Serena's little brother." He grins, turning around in all his witty-smug glory.

"Make yourself at home." He says before going to into the kitchen.

You do as you're told by throwing yourself on the coach. Well, not literally… Of course you do it with feminine grace and awareness.

And you're aware of the red box of Cap'n Crunch and a can of Reddi Whip Eric has left on the coffee table.

"Is there a new Upper East Side diet that I haven't heard of?" your voice raised so he can hear you.

"Which is exactly why I'm looking for anything Waldorf-edible." He heralds from the kitchen, thinking that you must've seen the evidence of his midnight snack attack.

"Blair, do you want yogurt or— Hey, that's _mine_!" He whines as he catches you with your mouth and hand full of whipped cream and cereal, respectively.

"You were six eight years ago, Eric. 'Hey, that's mine!' doesn't work on anybody anymore." You chastise to the point where you actually wish you had a little brother because you're actually having fun annoying the little boy blonde.

"It works on Serena." Eric mumbles, plopping himself next to you on the couch.

"My best friend, whipped by her own brother." you jest before popping some more Cap'n Crunch into your mouth.

"Oh, and it's not like you have her whipped?" he asks impishly, both of his eyebrows raised.

Haha. Very funny, Eric. You almost bite your tongue as you stop yourself from saying anything because you know denying that you have her whipped (in a totally friendly way, hoping Eric thinks the same) would be futile.

Instead, you focus your attention back to the TV, "What are you watching anyway?"

Then you hear "Next Week on America's Next Top Model: Miss Jay…" before he could answer.

Or before he could save his dignity by changing the channel.

"Eric?" hitting question and accusation with one name.

It takes a lot of time for him to gulp down his yogurt, laying out the choices in his head. To lie, or not to lie? Come on, little E, what will it be?

"Umm, I thought you guys loved this show" he asks nervously.

"_Girls_ love this show."

His lips purse as if they are about to argue but they decide against. "Yeah. Girls. Right." He recites like a child, nodding his head consequently.

Then you finally notice his Marlins sweater that's a little too big for him. He follows your gaze and looks down.

"Oh." He starts, "This, I didn't buy this." He continues defensively, tugging on the sweater uncomfortably.

"Never took you for a Marlin fan. What's wrong with the Yankees and the Mets?" You tease, overdoing the 'wish I had little brother too' thing.

"I'm not a Marlin fan." He insists.

Then he sees the disbelief so clearly etched upon your face.

"Okay, okay. I can explain." He huffs.

You nod your head and let him do just that.

"I got this sweater from Bart Bass."

"Why would Bart Bass give you a sweater?" you ask, skeptically. You know that Mr. Bass was supposed to be Lily van der Woodsen's nth husband and all, but why that particular choice for a future step-son's gift?

He shuts the TV off and you sense that it's going to be a very serious reason.

"Because my mom makes me lie to everyone who doesn't know that I ever stayed at the Ostroff Center." He answers quietly, choosing to look at the floor instead.

"They all think I went to Florida to visit my uncle, especially Bart. I mean, every time he's around, I'm all like, "Go Marlins!' thus, _the sweater_." He cracks a smile, finding the whole thing funny.

You remember humiliating S at that Ivy Week mixer and getting told off by Eric. And now you know why you haven't seen Eric in anything that didn't cover his wrists.

It was one of the more full-fledged, bitchy mistakes of yours. Mistakes that you want to ward off. But with all the… complications going on, it'd be really hard to do that.

In an attempt to break the awkward silence that arose, you tell him, "Hey, I actually think you look good in baggy baseball-team sweaters."

He's a van der Woodsen, he looks good in anything.

"Gee, thanks Blair. Any particular reason why you're sucking up to me?"

"In fact, there is. I'm looking for your sister."

He gives you a look that goes, "Did I _have_ to ask?"

Eric rolls his eyes and says, "Of course, why else would you be here?"

"To see you." You answer a matter-of-factly.

"Why else would you _intentionally_ be here?" he restates.

You nod silently for a second. "You have a point there…"

* * *

The pool? Of all places…

You know she's one for night swimming and all, but why now in the midst of recent events? That pool disaster was one of the most straining experiences of your life, you don't want to go back and splash into those memories anytime soon. Why would she?

But when you see Serena gracefully stroke through the cool blue, your breath hitches as you take your question back.

Serena's body has always been lean, but her athletic tone in all the right places steers her into perfection. A body you'd die to have for yourself…

Then you realize that you could mean it both ways, wanting her body for yourself, or wanting her all for your self.

But you brush that thought off, because this is all a game, and you're just really in the zone or something.

You finally find your voice and add decibels to the sound of rustling water as she reaches one end of the pool, "Isn't it a little too cold for taking a dip?"

Her head ascends out of the water and she slicks her wet hair back, almost in a Baywatch fashion with her serendipitously red Speedo that makes your breath hitch (thank Jesus she's not in a bikini…).

But really… Serena is above Baywatch on so many levels.

"Blair!" she calls, happy to see you.

Good, because it is likewise. You smile back at her widely.

"What brings you here?"

She doesn't usually question your presence, but you let that vague flash of insecurity go because your visit is indeed, impromptu.

"Checking up on you."

"Wrong. You were supposed to say that you were going for a swim with me." She informs you with a playful smirk.

You know something's bothering her inside, she just isn't showing it, like all kids of the Upper East Side. Troubled Nate goes all silent and stoic, Troubled Chuck… sleeps with _anyone_ available, you, when troubled, bitch about everything (like normal) and Troubled Serena? She's the type to delve into the reckless and wild.

And although her proposal sounds attractive, it can't reverse the fact that you have no swimsuit or extra clothing with you whatsoever, so you decline politely.

The refusal makes her get out of the pool and with no water to refract the flawlessness of her body, your breath stops for the second time that night. Of course her legs are long, her stomach toned, her chest heaving, and her cheeks pink from exertion. Of course you aren't supposed to be repeatedly thinking perverted thoughts about your best friend in the first place. And… of course you want to do unspeakable things to this girl in a red Speedo and all of the body parts that compose her.

Because of this bet you have with Chuck, you have to do just that. The thought just makes you sick and excited at the same time, not knowing which of the two was more prominent.

Fuck. And to think that _you_ were supposed to be the seductress, not the other way around.

"Come on B, it'll be fun." Serena pouts.

Seriously, _she pouts._

And you're under some spell where all rational thought goes out the window. You kick off your Lanvins and take off your sweater and Serena watches approvingly, step by step, agonizing piece of clothing by another agonizing piece of clothing.

So you lock your eyes with hers as you slip the sleeves of one of your mother's designs off your shoulders. You feel the fabric fall along the curves of your clammy body. And you feel her eyes looking, nice and hard, and intent… as you intended.

Serena's stare stops somewhere, particularly at the V of your chest.

Her eyes snap back to your face and you race a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Sorry, it's just that I never thought you'd… You know… Strip down that fast…"

You must say, getting Serena to blush and mutter out half-assed apologies gives you a sort of smug happiness. Like bowties do to Chuck. And you can't believe that you just thought of him when Serena is taking your hand and leading you to the pool.

The feeling of her hand in yours is warm and yet and you don't bother resisting the surprising electricity that started at contact. Your feet are moving, but you have no exact sense of space right now so the next thing you know is that it's cold and wet. The water. Actually, it's fucking freezing.

But she's still holding your hand, her laughter ringing delightfully in your ears.

And that's the reason you're shivering.

Serena sees that.

"It wasn't this cold a couple of seconds ago." She admits, teeth chattering.

"How should I know? If I do recall, I was safely on land before you practically begged me to jump in here with you."

"I did _not_ beg." She says in a 'jeeze, mom' manner.

"Whatever you say…" you let go, "But I would really appreciate if you appease my choice of adhering to your wishes by providing me with some body heat here."

It's spontaneous and cliché. But you had to lay some groundwork at some point. You'll take any chance you get.

"B?" she questions, reluctantly and it's just endearing the way she is very confused about your request.

"If I get pneumonia…" you start dangerously.

"Alright, alright." she plays along. She pulls you near, fumbling as she wraps her arms around your waist, your back against her chest. The only thing keeping you afloat is the fact that her head is way above water despite her feet being firmly planted on the pool floor, keeping you from drowning.

Her skin on yours. Well, that's a step.

But you couldn't really think because it was getting so hot that all your thoughts and plans melted away. It's as if there wasn't this big body of low temperature liquid all around you.

God, you're burning… underwater.

Nonetheless, you're starting to get used to the surreal feeling of everything being wrong.

Tonight, you're going to let loose and just let things happen.

As you lazily let your head fall back onto her shoulder, you can smell the faint scent of her perfume, mixed with the chlorine of the pool. This is how it was that night. The night that ruined two-thirds of the junior class's future.

"Eric tells me that you've been here every night since the accident?" not knowing exactly why the question came out of your mouth.

She nuzzles her face into your neck in a way she thinks is merely platonic and she answers, "Yeah. It's an ironic way to keep my mind off of things."

"You can say that." You say, hoping she'll catch the light humor and you're grateful when she sends back a small appreciative smile that you feel on your throat.

"I've tried to think things through. And I realized that I have been so selfish." Serena says, sounding so sad and guilty. A suitable melancholy mix of both.

The curves of your lips straighten out. Either because of her epiphany, or that she doesn't seem to be selfish to you, or because of the absence of her lips on your neck.

You'd hate to think that it's because of the latter.

Curious as to why she is being so ethical all of a sudden you ask her softly, "Why so?"

You feel the air she exhales on your skin as she sighs. "The only reason why I wasn't expelled was because I talked my mom out of dating Rufus."

You don't know how that relates to anything academic, but van der Woodsen's, as Eric has already proven, like to give vague answers before they ultimately spill their souls as a response to a personal inquiry.

So you're waiting for her to clear things up.

"It sucks you know, when you try to do something right and it counts for nothing in the end."

Her lips fall innocently on your shoulder. It's involuntary, how your eyes shut themselves while you take in the soft touch.

"What do you mean?" you manage to stutter out, barely at that.

"I confessed, Blair. I told Ms. Queller. And I really thought she was going to get me expelled. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, my future step-father tells me that he's responsible for saving my prep school-girl ass."

You don't need to say anything. She hates that she didn't get punished properly. Seriously, Dan Humphrey and his moral fiber thing only bring Serena pain.

"My mom's marrying Bart Bass, I didn't get punished for what I did, Dan and I are normal again... At least I think so…" she enumerates, like she's counting all the miserable things in her life off her fingers. Actually, her fingers that met at your stomach were tapping themselves accordingly. Then she stops.

Somehow, during the course of your conversation, she gets the both of you all the way to the edge of the pool. You were too busy with… other matters… to notice that Serena's back was already against the tiled side of the pool.

"My conscience is supposed to be clean, but when I think about, it just isn't right."

And you know it, that's all she has to say, it's your turn to talk and say something sweet and witty and something she expects of you to make her feel better.

But you don't think she wants to hear, "Your mother should run off with Rufus, you should go get yourself expelled and you should stay the eff away from Dan Humphrey." right now

Yeah, especially the last part.

The only person who'll be feeling better after you say that, is you.

You turn around with difficulty because she's reluctant to loosen her grip around your waist and you face her, arms at the sides of her head, your hands on the side of the pool for support.

You bend in closer and whisper, "It'll all work out, S." sealing the promise with a smile.

Even though your words were mediocre at best, if they have that effect on her then you could live with that and she looks like she believes you. It gets you to believe in yourself. It's a nice feeling.

You confuse it for something else as you lean into her and _almost_ brush your lips against hers.

Almost because _she_ moved and got her _cheek_ kissed by you.

You pull away abruptly and think about what you've done.

Fuck.

That wasn't part of the plan.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

All you could think about, B? Then so much for thinking about it…

Blue, everything is blue. The water, the checkered tiles, her eyes… her eyes. They're still blue, literally and metaphorically. At a loss and full of question.

Questions you could not answer her right now.

You need to go.

"Goodnight, S."

Serena just blinks at you for a second before nodding and watching you climb the ladder out of the pool. Her eyes are still fixed on you when you put on the nearest bathrobe you could find, gather your clothes and hastily wiggle into your flats in a rather embarrassing display.

Okay, so you've got stripping down to a tee, how does one put on clothes seductively?

You save that for another night as you start making your exit out of the pool area. But before you round the corner, you turn around. She isn't saying anything, nor does she stop looking and it's making you a little apprehensive.

"It's getting late. You should get out too."

And with that, you twist on your heel, leaving her to swim in her thoughts.

But not for long because you told her to get out soon.

Two minutes, she'll be out by then.

Like Eric says, you've got that girl whipped.

* * *

What do you think of this one? Reviews please… smiley


	3. Dire Deeds

Title: Fictions Are Genius Lies  
Author: dante de cervantes  
Fandom: Gossip Girl  
Pairing: lotsa pairings! But there will be surefire Waldsen!  
Rating: T (as for now)  
Summary: Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal and bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They're all threads to an intricate web of disaster. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH

Author's Notes: Feedback will fill my soul and speed up the update process…Have fun with this one… )

Disclaimer: I only own the plot and this story… Lovely characters belong to someone else…

* * *

**Fictions Are Genius Lies**

_**by **__**dante de cervantes**_

**PART III: Dire Deeds**

* * *

You're in the backseat of your town car and in a particular discomfort of being wet. You recall the wide eyes the driver gave you after you walked out of the hotel, clad in your flats and a bathrobe.

"Don't ask." You snap before he can ask about it, throwing your clothes and your tote into the car door he opened for you. Then you climb in, more than happy to escape public humiliation from the Palace public.

You take your phone out. You usually text him, because you'd rather not hear his voice, but it'd honestly be a lag if you let your thumbs do the talking this time. You have a lot to say to him.

You dial his number and he picks up after seven rings.

"To what do I owe the misery, Blair?" he asks, you can picture him rolling his eyes in an 'I can care less' manner.

"I hear the Bass-van der Woodsen nuptials are on the way? That means the Humphrey's aren't really taking over the world. With the van der Woodsen's as your new step-family, your Bass dynasty is as good as permanent."

"So news travels fast. Did Serena scream that out loud when you made her come?"

Well, he's being such a prick about everything now, isn't he?

"Fuck you."

You know that it'll start to be automatic, it's easier than saying your dress size. If Chuck keeps his shit up, you think that 'eff you' are the only words he'll hear from you.

"Language, Waldorf. Ladies do not talk like that. Anyway, what are you getting at?"

It's weak to ask if you could back down from the dare. But you aren't really sure about ruining your friendship with S.

"Do I still have to do this?" your voice fragile by accident. You quickly cover it up with a "Can't I do something else?"

From the other end, you can hear a door open and you also hear a hand covering the mouth piece. It's silent for a second.

"Yes Nathaniel, Blair will love those." You catch it even though it's muffled and it just confirms that Nate is with Chuck at the Palace.

You were just there a couple of minutes ago. It's funny how things turn out like that.

"I wish you luck Archibald." He tells Nate. You don't know what for.

"Thanks, Chuck. See you in the AM." And with that, you hear the door shutting.

Chuck turns his attention to you now.

"Well, if you want to keep your ex-boyfriend who just bought you a cliché of flowers, then yes. You still have to do this. It's Dan I want to screw with, remember?"

Yeah, he wants to hurt Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan. Who has absolutely nothing to do with the wedding.

You don't make an effort to stop your sigh. "Fine…" you reply, frustrated inside.

"Oh, I forgot to mention…" he starts.

That looming tone never sounds good.

"Let's see to it that Daniel will be able to view his girlfriend's infidelity. I want _proof_, Waldorf."

It was only time for him to remember the matter of evidence. It was foolish for you to have thought that you could get away with that. He'd remember it sooner or later.

"And I've been in a nice mood, I've decided to help you kick things off with Serena."

If he only knows what you did moments ago, 'kicking things off' would be a little too literal.

"In light of our future step-siblingship, I invited Serena over for a little get-together at the Victrola this Friday." he says.

You breathe out a derisive laugh that you couldn't stop, "Are you being sentimental or something?"

He roars in laughter with you too, "Oh, so you _do _remember the night you lost your virginity."

To him, you're constantly reminded. Sadly, you do remember the night you made the two biggest mistakes of your life…in a row. You break up with your boyfriend and two hours later you're breaking into his best friend's pants. Now, aren't you a smart and sensible, level-headed girl?

"You were saying?" curious about any of his plans that involved your best friend.

"Right. As I was saying, me and Serena. The Victrola, Friday. And I implore you to come with. But only on one condition."

Him and his conditions. Smug-ass bastard. What, does he think that because he's a Bass, he can go and stipulate a Waldorf?

"That is…?" you trail grudgingly.

"You make sure Dan doesn't tag along."

Chuck notices it too, that Serena calls Dan over every single time people are having fun. He's always spoiling the party by trying to save the day and the only thing he hasn't done yet is to hand out bibles to the drunk or stoned.

How to preoccupy Dan Humphrey? You're thinking of locking him up with anything by Faulkner in nine languages. That'd probably be enough for one night… That'd probably never happen either.

Friday is three days away, so you have to think of a way to keep LonelyBoy lonely as soon as possible. The things you have to waste your time on. You probably wouldn't even be thinking about this if Dan didn't bring that nosy voyeur of a girl to your house…

Well, maybe LonelyBoy doesn't have to be lonely.

While you keep yourself busy with your best friend, he can go get busy with his own.

"Done and done." You guarantee Chuck, Dan Humphrey is going to be doing his thing where he belongs, in Brooklyn with fellow downtowners.

"Fabulous." He lets out, excitedly. It just occurs to you how gay it sounded, coming from him.

He's being rather informative when he adds, "And you should be expecting Nate later, he says he's coming over."

Nate visiting you after you visit (and almost kiss) Serena. Great.

"I don't even know why he goes to me for approval. It's not like I know which type of flora you prefer…" he muses.

"Okay." You say heavily, signaling for him to shut it. "See you on Friday."

Immediately after you hang up, you dial up Humphrey. Jenny Humphrey.

"Blair?" she answers after half a ring, completely shocked that you called her.

"Little J, do you mind if I ask you what kind of bands your brother is into?" you ask casually. Then you notice that you need a new pedicure.

"He likes a lot of stuff. But he's been real crazy about this band that's going to play at the Tea Lounge this Friday but he couldn't aff—" she stops, mid-word, "—**land** tickets."

Poor Humphrey, she can't even admit that her brother couldn't afford tickets to a local gig.

"Do you know which band it is?" growing impatient.

You experience another conversation in which your correspondent covers the mouthpiece to talk to someone else. And you're starting to get annoyed by that.

"Dan, what was that band you wanted to go and see again?"

You just know that the garage door that divided their room is up. The Humphrey siblings are probably both on their beds, Jenny is painting her nails while Dan is double-checking his homework for the second time.

"Arcade Fire."

You've never heard of them. Well, you've never heard of Dan Humphrey before Serena took an interest in him either.

"Why do you ask?" Jenny follows up, trying to prolong the exchange.

"I'm doing a survey on the junior class and I don't have his number." not surprised how fast your lying reflexes are. You are the best of the best.

"Thank you, Jenny." You say sweetly.

"Oh, no problem Blair." She replies, unable to hide the zest in her adolescent voice.

You hang up without replying as the car pulls in front of the Brownstone. It's either you made it before Nate or Nate made it before you did. You'll know soon.

When the elevator doors slide open, Nate's already standing on the checkered marble floor of your house, his hand hiding behind his back.

The flowers, you figure.

Roses, you find a second later as he pulls them from behind, all boyish smiles.

He kisses you but you but it's Serena's skin that you still taste on your lips.

Once you get into your apartment you toss the day's mail onto the dining table and head for directly for the fridge, taking out an apple. As you take a big, grateful bite, your eyes weep over the scattered pile of bills, magazine subscriptions and postcards from your favorite cousin in Iowa. But one particular delivery catches your attention.

You pick the plain, white envelope up and check if it's really yours. You read the details and the name and the address are most definitely yours. You take a half-bite of your apple again so the whole fruit stays stuck onto your teeth.

And with two free hands you open the envelope to find two tickets to an Arcade Fire concert at the Tea Lounge on Friday plus a note in cursive that says,

_Abrams,_

_Enjoy._

_From,_

_A friend_

_P.S._

_The other one is Dan's._

You can't help smiling and your teeth's grip on the apple loosens so it thuds onto the dining table. You can't believe your luck. Free tickets to an Arcade Fire concert and you're going to see them with Dan.

You reread a part of the note again,

_From,_

_A friend_

You're taken back to the night at the coffee shop, and his voice is fresh and baleful in your head. _"I think we might just get along."_

How he knew you and Dan liked Arcade Fire, you couldn't say.

There's something else you could say though. And that is:

"Thank you and your feminine handwriting, Chuck."

It's hard to keep your eyes focused on only one of them. You couldn't say who of the two is hotter: the brunette who is up on the stage like she owns it along with all the eyes on her; or one of the owners of those collective eyes, the blonde who accidentally spills the martini (she was supposed to guard) on her Armani dress because she finds it difficult to keep her hands steady with the owner of the drink exposing more and more flesh under the hypnotizing red lights.

You smile dumbly. Partly because this is all fucking fantastic, partly because you had more than a couple of shots. Partly because Serena seems she has had a little than enough to drink too, looking like a little boy accidentally seeing his teenage sister taking her shirt off. But mostly because you took another high drag of weed and the world is all sights, smells and sounds…

And sex apparently.

What the Victrola sells best.

It's like you were watching porn. Hot, same-sex porn. And they aren't even touching each other. But you know this is the best you could get until Blair hands you the official tape so you could sit down and watch it with Humphrey of all people.

Blair has her hands hotly tangled in her own brown locks and she defines sultry and sensual. It seems that Serena is on the edge of her seat, eager to revise her vocabulary.

Each perfect feature is improved, each movement sexually refined, and she's like a showroom, selling herself.

You'd be the highest bidder, but Serena's the only customer that exists to the dealer at the auction. Blair's brown eyes were fixed on her the entire night. And Serena, she just doesn't get it, probably because Blair must always look at her like that and the blonde's gotten used to it by now.

And you must say, the look she's giving your step-sister is so effing sexy that a need to eff with the nearest person (who you aren't related to in any way) grows and grows inside of you.

She has gotten better, her hips rocking so-in-synch with the racy music, calves lacking fishnets that make her paleness stand out more from her handmaidens on the stage, tossing her hair and touching herself all over, in a way that made you ache. And by the way Serena is gawking at her, you aren't the only one.

She threw you her headband but she throws Serena her dress, leaving her in a silky chemisette that glides along her body as holds her hands up and sways a sizzling seduction. People start with the wolf-whistles and the cat calls, somebody could possibly be dog-drooling out there but you're most amused by Serena's spot-on fish out of water face, mouth agape in utter disbelief and completely awestruck.

Blair likes the reaction from everybody, especially from the blonde. She's loved by all, but it only matters when she sees that Serena's stare is glazed. And once she spots it without much difficulty, the corner of her mouth curves into the faintest of smirks.

You feel green again. Your first dose of sibling rivalry, it's all new to you.

There used to be a time when the only person she could run to was Chuck Bass himself.

"_You were amazing up there."_

The magic words you said to her that night. Open sesame to the best fuck of your life. Your mind moves back to the Debutante ball, when she made Nate melt and flutter his eyes in pleasure.

It's an invisible hit to the gut that copious amounts of illegal herb couldn't cure.

You want to hurt her so much. And the best way to do that is if you get that tape from Vanessa. And you couldn't get it if Blair doesn't seal the deal with Serena. That's the critical part. It'll either make or break all your plans of ruining Blair Waldorf's life.

But you have no intention whatsoever to break into a shoddy downtown apartment to look for

that tape. You'll get it if you get her Humphrey. Chuck Bass can follow the rules when he wants to.

"Baby Vamp is back!" a very familiar black drag-queen shouts after she sits herself between you and Serena, taking Blair's place on the plush, orange couch.

"She's done this before?" she sputters, snapping out of the trance the brunette was casting on anything that breathed in the club. Serena straightens up and removes Blair's dress from her lap. She finally notices that her own dress is wet.

"Surprisingly, yes. She has." You say loudly, so she can hear you over this she-man who doesn't understand the concept of personal space.

Like she has done you on that same night…

- - -

The black Ferrari looks even more handsome than the last time you saw it, which was two hours ago.

You're so tipsy that you insist that you're sober enough to drive the both of them home yourself, practically snatching the keys from your driver. He almost protests, but then you slap a Benjamin in his hand for him to take a cab and all issues of a possible DUI vanish.

It's a foolish plan to try and impress the ladies but there's nothing more that says 'eff me' than a man behind the wheel. Once you are on the road, you utterly believe that you will drop the both of them off _safely._

That doesn't seem to be the case. You don't know whose fault it is. Yours, because you're being a drunk, stupid ass who's driving the car. Or theirs', for being such an effing distraction to the drunk stupid ass who is driving the car.

It's just that Blair's hand looks so skilled, innocently running itself over Serena's thigh. The act being on display via a cleverly angled rearview mirror. For a moment there, you think that you don't need to drive Serena back to the Palace because Blair sure looks like she has something else in mind to do with your soon-to-be-step-sister.

As you swerve off the lane and into the sidewalk, you figure on blaming _them_ whilst your foot hits the brakes. The Ferrari comes to a rough stop in front of a lamppost and it takes a moment for you to digest what happened.

Serena reads your mind. "Chuck, what _the hell_ happened?!" she asks threateningly, being pinned into her seat by a very wasted (and thankfully clueless) Waldorf.

Hold your horses, Serena, I'm still trying to figure that out too.

You hear shouts outside, calling for 911. It suddenly occurs to you that maybe, just maybe… you hit somebody.

Blair's head shoots up, straight and alert like a meerkat and you follow suit, slapping yourself into a more somber state before getting out of the vehicle.

Of all the poor, faceless people you that you could find, ass on the sidewalk, it had to be Dan Humphrey. Why is the world being so comical all of a sudden?

He looks rattled and more broke-down than usual. Apart from that, he doesn't seem to be seriously hurt. At least there isn't any blood splattered across the concrete. And more importantly, no scratches on the car.

When Dan realizes it's you that almost killed him, he gets a "you have got to be kidding me" face. He takes a look around and you do the same, there are a couple of people around and you just know that this is going to be on Gossip Girl in the next hour.

Humphrey gets up and brushes himself off, telling everybody else that he's fine and there isn't any need for an ambulance. Perhaps that is because poor people have tough skin and thick heads. Anyway, as the people leave, he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket in a very Humphrey fashion, like he wants to tear them open.

"Why am I not surprised?" he just _has_ to ask.

'Because you're an insufferable smart-ass who always has a pre-assumed correct assumption on everything.' You want to answer but think better against it because you almost made road-kill out of him and all.

You don't get a chance to say anything because Serena decides to make her presence known, therefore letting Dan's presence known to Serena, therefore Blair will be very ticked off later. (That makes actual sense in the UES)

"Oh my God!" Serena squeals. "Dan? Are you okay?" she asks, hurrying over to him, taking his face in her hand and examining him closely for any sign of harm.

You glance at Blair, who stumbled out of the car after one of the things that kept her upright exits the vehicle. The both of you share a look of revulsion at Serena's low-rent taste.

Dan looks at Serena like an annoying, attention-seeking puppy. "Yeah, I'm fine. But apparently, these two," he motions to you and Blair, "are not."

You wish that you just went ahead and hit him. He's being a fucking pain.

"Be thankful I'm not pressing charges." He adds, self-importantly.

He seriously doesn't know what you could do to him, in or out of school. You could have him evicted out of Brooklyn if you wanted to. Does he really want to throw his life away?

"Yes, I think Chuck is a little more than grateful." Blair answers for you, like she didn't have gin martinis all night, like she doesn't hate you. You finally have some sense to realize that she's saving your ass and that you really don't want Humphrey pressing charges. You feel those damn butterflies again because she actually cares.

"I'm taking you home." Dan tells Serena angrily, grabbing her hand.

"Dan, I thought you were with Vanessa—" Serena begins.

"No. You are _not_ going home with them." he cuts hotly, looking like he'll cry any minute if Serena goes any further with the subject.

Serena looks from him to you and Blair. Torn between two types of company. Go home with the down-to-earth boyfriend? Or the insane but insanely hot best friend…and the step-brother (probably just an after-thought to Serena)?

God, why does she even think about turning down the Ferrari?!

"Fine, then you guys walk the whole way home for all I care. And Humphrey, learn how to cross the street. I don't want the same thing to happen to you while my step-sister is with you, you seem to attract misfortune." You address with sarcastic care.

You are certain that if his peace-loving girlfriend weren't there, Dan would've let you hear the best of ghetto Brooklyn trash-talk.

Then Serena shoots Blair an apologetic look before Humphrey drags her to God knows where. Blair looks on with you at their retreating forms, clearly disappointed. She turns to you with a frown on her features.

"I really thought that I'd do it tonight." She lets you know.

"Considering how much alcohol you consumed, I think you wouldn't have gotten anything done." You state, not missing the roll of her eyes, "And do you think it'd be that easy to get into bed with her just because you played stripper?"

She looks you up and down, sizing you up. A challenging smile is thrown at you while she flags down a taxi. Your eyes stick to her every move as she gets in. In the middle of shutting the door, she looks back at you and she says:

"Well, it worked with _you_. Didn't it?"

- - -

Me likey? Hehe. On my virtual knees for you to review!


	4. The Blair Capades

Title: Fictions Are Genius Lies  
Author: dante de cervantes  
Fandom: Gossip Girl  
Pairing: lotsa pairings! But there will be surefire Waldsen!  
Rating: PG-13 (as for now)  
Summary: Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal and bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They're all threads to an intricate web of disaster. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH

Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long to update. I've been hella busy. And this is for all the people who wanted Dan Humphrey creamed… Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I only own the plot and this story… Lovely characters belong to someone else…

* * *

**Fictions Are Genius Lies**

_**by **__**dante de cervantes**_

**PART IV: The Blair Capades**

* * *

Daniel Humphrey is a wrecker of all things bad and evil. To the perspectives of kids like you and Chuck, that's a bad and evil thing no matter how good and heavenly it sounds. The world already has a Jesus, so Dan Humphrey can go get lost. If you have to nail him to his own cheap-ass cross, then so be it.

Dan Humphrey. _Damn_ Humphrey.

You have to get rid of him so you could do what you have to do. But he's like a cockroach, whatever you do to him, he'll survive and thrive and scavenge and be over-all disgusting. He just won't go away. But thanks to his girlfriend, you have discovered his kryptonite.

"_Dan hates the ice capades."_

See, you're good at remembering the best in people. Particularly the parts that could possibly bring them to their knees. Given that helpful bit of info, you plan to have a double date. Dan and Serena. You and… Serena.

Though they won't be able to tell that the second date exists at all or anything.

- - -

The way the light strikes her hair was always something you have noticed. You liked it. And that was it. No more room for the expansion of the thought.

But lately, with that torturous bet Chuck imposed upon you, you couldn't help but describe every single strand as godly and golden.

You realize that's why you wanted to play out in the sun with her when you were little. Why your designer-of-the-summer-shaded eyes watched from a deck chair while she skim boarded across the shore. Maybe the tingly warmth you felt on your skin whilst getting those tans wasn't all credited to the sun.

It's a good thing she still watches Breakfast at Tiffany's with the same unwavering attention from when she had first seen it (with you). So she's not noticing that you noticed how noticeable she is.

Serena wasn't exactly expecting you to invite her _and Dan_ to go ice skating while the both of you were watching Holly Golightly, Paul Varjack and the nameless cat reunite in an alley in the middle of the pouring rain. So you couldn't blame her of the following:

"What?!" she asks incredulously, accidentally snorting into her coffee the moment she hears 'Dan' in the same sentence as 'ice skating'. You find it strange that you didn't consider her manners appalling.

It's like she can never do anything wrong. While your whole life was all about avoiding the egg shells. One wrong move and something is destroyed. Sometimes you wish that it wasn't like that. You _know_ how to ask for too much, but asking for a life where you're free to be who you are? Now, that's really too, too much.

"Let's go to Wollmon's. Bring Dan along." You reiterate, finding it hard to say that last bit… again.

Her lack of enthusiasm is clear and she says, "I was hoping we could like, stay in today. Watch more movies, Clueless maybe? Eat in bed, give Dorota a reason to change the sheets…" she stops and realizes how inappropriate the last one sounded.

Her proposal sounds tempting, but your urge to do away with Humphrey won this battle.

"And besides, I thought we all have had enough last Friday." She says tiredly, remembering the horror of almost having her boyfriend rammed into a lamp post.

"Have you ever thought that it was because you walked all the way home? And whatever happened to partying 24/7?" you ask dryly.

Her eyes darken with remorse and you regret your words as she says hers, "Things have changed."

You can't believe that you press on in a slightly hurt tone, "Yes, I've noticed. Since you won't even go ice skating with me anymore."

But it's that manipulation that always gets you what you want.

And you're hoping "Moon River", that's awkwardly playing in the background, will help you a little here by hypnotizing her into saying yes. She looks real worried about putting her boyfriend in a special episode of Fear Factor: the super dorky fears edition.

"Have I told you that Dan hates anything that involves huge chunks of ice?"

"I thought he liked snow?" you recall, it's what he wanted for Christmas.

Serena stares at you pointedly. "_Huge_ chunks, B."

"Huge, whatever—" Humphrey is a _huge_ **doofus**.

"— look, he'll love it at Wollman, trust me. It's the best place to give him lessons. C'mon S. I thought you loved teaching kids how to skate?" You persuade.

"Dan's not exactly five, Blair." She points out. Oh, he isn't? How could you have missed that?

"Five-year olds don't necessarily have Cabbage Patch dolls wedged into their bookcases either." You retort.

Seriously, he isn't five?

"Well, at least I'll finally be able to teach _him_ something. I used to think that he already knew everything… But I don't know…" she trails, ambivalent.

You take control of your facial muscles and let them execute the puppy-dog pout. You hope it's as good as hers because she can totally turn the tables on you with this one because she has one bad-ass puppy-dog look that could have you on your knees in a second.

By the way her thoughtful frown relaxes into a settled decision you can tell that she has succumbed.

"I don't see why you're not inviting Nate…" Serena grumbles lowly.

You almost come up with another lame excuse but she reaches over your stomach and the motion takes you by surprise. You jerk and she looks at you weirdly before grabbing her phone off your bedside table.

"I'm calling Dan." She announces. "Happy?"

You nod with a smile that indicates that some major scheming has been done. Serena catches it, but she dismisses the thoughts that you think she can see in your head. But thank God she only sees the best in people.

Speaking of the best, isn't Moon River the best secretly manipulative song ever?

- - -

You took off for the ice first. Because Dan's being a wuss, arriving late and currently tying and re-tying his skates with Serena there, trying to convince him to get on the ice already.

You love it here, the Wollmon ice rink at Central Park. Lots of memories with your family and Serena's. The fondest one was when you and Serena taught little Eric how to skate, each of his hands in one of Serena's or yours. He later replaced those hands with a hockey stick, handling pucks like a New York Ranger.

You see him actually step onto the ice, Serena helping him every step of the slippery way.

"Dan, I'm so glad you made it!" you wave, being bogusly merry. You glide over skate around them in happy, dizzying circles.

Then Dan looks like he wants to barf, going green in the face.

"Don't worry Dan, you'll learn how to skate like that too." Serena assures him with a dumb grin.

It isn't really dumb, but the fact that something that amazing can be directed to a person like Humphrey…

Well, _that_ makes it dumb…

- - -

If what Serena meant by 'skating like that' was 'skating so that you make other people want to throw up breakfast' then yes, Dan knows how to 'skate like that'.

Daniel Humphrey on ice is the funniest thing you have ever seen. Okay, maybe not the funniest, but it's up there. Next to Serena dating Dan Hump-for-Free (so your witless name-calling isn't as clever as you think it is, but it does the job).

He's dressed up like a stereotypical French guy, a white and black-striped sweater and this preposterous beret. Not even Chuck, who has the most absurd fashion sense in a boy of his age, wears a beret like that. And Chuck has brown, what-the-eff?!-floral patterned pants…

And the only thing Dan's missing now is a goatee and changing his name to Pierre or something. Add that to some horrible skating then you're putting on one of the best ice shows ever.

Fucking funny. Definitely.

Dan is wobbling like— scratch that. He's wobbling unlike anything you have ever laid eyes upon. It's _that_ bad…

God, wait. He's worse than Roman. And Roman's like… old.

Roman's like… _gay_.

And he's _really_ French

Roman is _dating your father_…

So he has an excuse to and to look like French guy while sucking at skating.

Unlike Dan, whose fear of the ice capades isn't included in the list of phobias of the world.

He's freaking the hell out and making it so damn evident, that the little kids all sought safety at the other side of the rink. Serena, oh brave Serena, Dan wouldn't let go of her and you're thinking if he did, you'd be seeing a weird kind of Humphrey windmill. One that Don Quixote won't even mistake for a dragon.

They move smoothly together for a good ten minutes or so as you sulk at the edge of the rink, plotting and conniving while trying to look innocent.

You catch Serena's eye and she gives you a warm smile that makes you forget that it's winter.

Dan notices that he doesn't have her attention anymore and you wonder how he can still do that given he should probably devote all his thoughts on trying to survive on the ice.

"Serena, look, I'm not dead yet." He bursts out in a supposedly funny and charming voice.

"Actually, I think you have a hang on it already." She answers him sweetly, which, in turn makes him look like he's the king of the effing universe.

Well, _Serena _sure thinks that he's got a good hang of it. You, on the other hand, still think he couldn't skate for shit.

Which is the truth.

Because again, Serena only sees the best in people. She's blind to their deficiencies. And you hate that she's putting up with (dating) all these people (Humphrey) who don't even deserve her time.

But sometimes, you think that's why she stays friends with you. She can't see how horrible of a person you really are. Those are the only times you're glad that she can't see.

"Okay, Dan. I'm gonna let you go now. Then you skate over to Blair." She says to Dan like he's in preschool or a level lower.

Dan's features fall immediately, not expecting the flaw in his contingency plan.

"Serena— No, **No**!" he's in hysterics.

But too late. She lets him go a good three seconds ago and he's already on your way.

The look on Humphrey's face is priceless, the stuff of MasterCard commercials.

You smile invitingly at him as you hold your arms out, giving everyone the impression that you truly are to catch him. Arms all over the place and skates sarcastically steady.

The situation is all too familiar. And before you know it, you're sticking your foot out and you send Dan flying into the air, fresh off the icy runway. He lands on his hip a moment later, sliding to a halt when friction decides to act full force.

Now that was a _major_ wipeout. It tops Roman's by a mile.

"Dan!" Serena shouts, immediately rushing to his fallen figure.

You stand in place for a moment, smelling the sweet scent of victory while nobody's looking. Then you grudgingly skate over to Dan and Serena.

"Humphrey, are you alright?" you _try_ to ask with concern in your voice, hoping that you're fooling them both. But you think that you've screwed that up already by using the last-name basis thing. So it looks like Serena's going to be the only one thinking that you aren't guilty of anything.

Dan shoots you a glare but it mixes with his winces of pain. So basically, the glare comes out pretty pathetic and laughable.

Serena tries to help him up but he shrugs her off (rudely, you observe) after she helped him to the side of the rink.

"He seems to loathe me." You tell Serena cheerfully as she skates back to you after Dan ignored her eager helping hands. Stuff like that makes a girl stop trying.

Serena considers you for a second and you think that she might verbally agree with you on that. The slightly accusatory stare she presents you makes you guilty inside already.

"What? I thought I had him." You lie, trying to not sound too defensive. You hope, that by doing more and more evil, you'd rid yourself of this thing called a… what's that word?

Oh, a _conscience_.

"He's just taking this whole ice thing real hard." She sighs out, looking back at Dan, so you couldn't really tell if she believes that you did it to him on purpose.

The both of you watch him limping and groping for life on the rink's barricade until he reaches the exit after which, he pretty much loses balance again. And it takes Serena a moment for her to realize that it's her boyfriend who is out there, stumbling like a buffoon.

Hate to break it to you S, that's just reality.

Not so charming now, are you Humphrey?

Then she skates after the ass to 'ass'ist him.

- - -

Serena appears to be relieved after she dropped Dan off. You're waiting outside, leaning against the door of your town car, trying to look cool and seductive, when she walks out of the Humphrey's loft.

"Glad it's over?" you ask knowingly, opening the door for her.

Serena groans a yes as she drops herself into the plush seats and slinks lazily down the seat in a way that makes you question if you could control yourself if you get in after her.

You are Blair Waldorf, the queen of cool and control, you aren't going to do anything stupid this time. You command yourself to not do anything stupid this time.

After you climb in after her, you straighten out your skirt and you button up your coat all the way to the top and you're too nervous to notice that you're already pulling at the neck of the turtleneck you are wearing, like it's choking you or something.

You steal a glance at her and you're surprised to see that she's looking at you too, with a crooked smile on her lips.

"Did I grow an extra head or something?" you demand to know in an annoyed manner.

Her smile grows wider and her eyes become smaller, crinkling… the appeal of which should not be obsessed over.

"No. It's just that you're normal again." Serena muses. And she sounds happy. Your heartstrings start working and they tug. And pretty soon, you're happy too.

"An 'adorably perfect' normal?" you ask her hopefully. Inching closer and closer to her, drawn to her 'internal Blair magnet'. Like always.

"I was thinking more of a 'keeping clothes on' normal." She laughs at you, her sweet breath ticking your face, her amused giggles filling your ears.

Her head's against the seat, next to yours, right next to yours. Foreheads. Touching. Where has your coherence gone?!

"But 'adorably perfect' sounds better." She whispers to you, like when you were kids.

The way her eyes shine is still the same from when she was five.

And then you're trying to think of everything else but kissing her. But that's kind of hard, since 'everything else' involved her in some little way so basically you have no choice. You think about it. About…

_Kissing her._ Kissing her. **Kissing her.**

"Suck-up." You hear yourself accuse. You don't know if you're happy or upset that your conscious just saved your whole being from venturing off to LaLa land.

Control. Control.

You pull back and face forward, turning away from her. She follows suit and all is awkwardly silent for a while.

"So…" she starts, breaking the quiet "you've got to teach me some of your moves sometime." She suggests casually, restoring the 'fun' atmosphere but taking you back to a place where you lost that damn control because of her.

You feel yourself flush in embarrassment. You did not expect that she'd bring it up today. You even thought that she just forgot that you ever went up to that stage last Friday night.

"Liked the show?" you hear yourself ask, trying to act like you don't care.

Right, you don't care because you put it all on (or off) for her. That just clarifies things perfectly, doesn't it?

It takes a good five seconds before she replies, "Yeah. Chuck and I had fun." She mulls over, probably surprising herself that she had fun with Chuck at all.

"And do you know that there's this black drag queen who affectionately calls you… drum roll please… _baby vamp_?" she asks you enthusiastically, interested in your deviant ways.

Well, you weren't aware of _that_.

"Oh my God! Really?!" you squeal in disbelief, reflexes making you turn into her again.

"I know. It's like, so, so cool! C'mon B, you've got to teach me how to be sexy… I want a hot burlesque performer name too." She whines, flashing you her puppy dog eyes again.

S doesn't need to be sexy. She _is_ sexy. No matter what she fucking does. She just is.

"Okay, fine. But not until you teach me something else first. Something I haven't done before." You don't know why you even thought about it, but you have the sneaking suspicion that the inspiration came from Breakfast at Tiffany's…

She looks all thoughtful for a second biting her bottom lip in concentration that just makes it hard for you to concentrate on anything else.

Ugh, Waldorf. Please, get a grip.

"Hmmm… I think I have something in mind." She tells you playfully.

"Skydiving?" your guess, purposely far-out.

"We should try that someday. We're already insured like crazy, what could possibly go wrong?"

An excited Serena is adorable.

"Yeah, I'm sure we will. But the plan you had in mind, before the skydiving, does it also need some major insuring?" you have to ask because sometimes with Serena, you never know…

"No. Unless you totally suck at wielding a stick, you'd probably poke my eye out. In that case, _I'd_ be the one who is going to need the major insuring." She says seriously, which earns her a lighthearted swat on the arm.

"A stick?" you ask her, eyebrow expertly quirked in question.

"You'll find out on Friday." She leaves you hanging in a mysterious air.

"A surprise date?" you _surprise_ yourself by questioning. The things that come out of your mouth…

She smiles at you before turning away shyly, "Yeah, you could say that." She answers, enjoying the metropolitan view outside.

Your Friday nights are beginning to sound real good. Maybe they'll start being better than your Sunday mornings.

- - -

The next day at school, the sight of Dan Humphrey limping into the school gates in a pair of horrendous looking crutches greets you like an old friend.

And you couldn't be any more pleased with your handiwork.

Rather, your handy _foot_work.

* * *

Let the feedback commence! 


	5. Shooting Stars and Comets

Title: Fictions Are Genius Lies  
Author: dante de cervantes  
Fandom: Gossip Girl   
Pairing: lotsa pairings! But there will be surefire Waldsen!  
Rating: PG-13 (as for now)  
Summary: Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal and bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They're all threads to an intricate web of disaster. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH

Author's Notes: I apologize profusely for this taking too long… Again, college has been sucking big time… So I hope you'll like this one, because Waldsen rarely pops out nowadays…

Disclaimer: I only own the plot and this story… Lovely characters belong to someone else… Oh, and the song featured in this chap isn't mine either. And a favor, give it a listen… It's a cool track. (,)

**Fictions Are Genius Lies**

_**by **__**dante de cervantes**_

**PART V: Sending Shooting Stars and Comets**

It's a Friday. You and S still have fifteen minutes until you go home with Nate and she goes home with Humphrey.

You get another urge to fix her lopsided tie again, but you don't.

_First day of grade school. She manages to loosen her tie by recess and when you see her climbing up the slide's ladder, you get off your swing and you wait at the foot of the slide until she comes to a stop before you._

_You were smart when you were young. But you weren't exactly a physicist. So, standing a little too close for comfort at the foot of the slide, you didn't expect her to come crashing into your fragile, first-grade body._

_You land on the ground, getting sand on your uniform. She laughs and you follow. Because it didn't hurt. It's a pleasant pain._

"What did you do that for?"_ she asks between giggles, scrambling to her feet then kneeling over your horizontal disposition._

"I wanted to fix your tie."_ You answer, rising to meet her and copy her stance. Then your hands automatically reach for the garment around her collar._

_Your tie-tying skills exceeded that of a normal first-grader and pretty soon, you have her tie nice and perfect. You're pleased with yourself._

"B?"_ the voice is tentative and tiny, very unlike Serena._

"Hmm?"_ your hands are nervous, balled into fists on top of your thighs._

"I don't like it too tight."_ She admits in an embarrassed tone._

"Oh… Right."

_Your hands shake while they make the ring around her neck a little wider. After you finish, she flashes you a bright and cozy smile of thanks._

_It's like you are looking at the sun. Like you couldn't look away. And when you closed your eyes, you'd still see the light through shut lids and feel the warmth all over your body._

"Hey, my tummy's all… tingly."_ You tell her. It's almost an accusation after you notice the ridiculous feeling in your stomach._

"You've got butterflies."_ She diagnoses happily. She pauses before she questions modestly, _"Do they feel good?"

"Yeah… they kind of do."_ You answer in reluctant honesty, like admitting a weakness. _"Do you get them too? These butterflies?"_ you ask her with a childish curiosity, wanting deep down to hear a particular answer._

"Sometimes…"_ she starts, getting to her feet and brushing herself off, then she holds out her hand, which you gladly take, and she helps you up._

"…when I'm with you."_ She finishes and the butterflies flutter excessively, making it impossible for you to hide your symptoms._

_Then she fixes your headband that went askew sometime during the collision. That's when you realize that… Yes, Serena always gives you what you want._

You get it, she needs to breathe. And you let the tie thing go, every single school day. She doesn't know that you have this obsessive battle with yourself concerning her always-too-loose tie for the past twelve— actually, eleven years (excluding the year she went off to boarding school).

And she doesn't know that she's driving you wild just by sitting on the steps at school with you. The way her arm is casually draped over her skirt, between her legs, conveniently hiding her underwear, is crazy. She's like this model who gets great shots in her sleep.

You've been thinking about what she has in store for you tonight for the past week and you have no idea what the both of you were going to be doing later. You refused to bring it up with her for fear of looking too eager.

But you have a battalion of all sorts of outfits at home. She could at least tell you what to wear so you wouldn't spend three hours swimming in the Waldorf Gulf of Couture.

"About tonight… Is it a dressing to the nines thing?" you ask, casually, trying to look distracted by _pretending_ to text someone.

Her head is still resting against the rails but her eyes are set on you. "More like to the threes."

She smiles at her own cheesiness and you don't have it in you to not follow suit.

After regaining composure, you question, "Oh, so it's a casual Friday?"

"Not exactly."

You quirk an eyebrow at her. "Well, your idea of casual Fridays is far from a normal person's idea of casual Friday." She sighs out, like she's confessing something bad.

"Was that supposed to be an insult?" you ask tartly, flipping your phone shut because the whole pretending to next a nonexistent person thing was getting a little old.

She straightens her posture at the tone of your voice and she considers you for a moment before leaning in to say, "No, I just don't want anyone hitting on you later. Tonight, it's just you and me."

Fuck her and her pretty eyes and her straight smile that make the fucking butterflies in your teenage stomach flutter.

Up to this day, Serena still knows how to give you what you want.

"Then consider me yours for the whole night."

How's that for returning the favor?

- - -

Your mother just happens to be at home when you're about to leave.

She's busy going over pictures of her latest photoshoot, in one of those zones that disconnects her from the rest of the normal world.

You walk down in a pair of comfy Chuck Taylor's, denim jeans and a Cosa Nostra top you bought last Fall. Serena loved Project Runway's season 3 winner, Jeffrey Sebelia and you hunted down the brand with her in New York, finally finding this random boutique in the meatpacking on 14th St. between 9th and 10th Avenue. She bought his one of trademark leather jackets while you got this very-cute-yet-sexy sleeveless hoodie.

And you're glad you finally have the perfect occasion to wear it. A normal night out with your not-so-normal best friend. How casual could you get?

Maybe she sensed something in the air that made her question the lack of click-clack. No sound of heels connecting with floor. That's highly unusual in a Waldorf household.

Eleanor looks up from her work and it's like her gaze obliges you to freeze on the spot, a good six feet away from her. She sits on the couch with a critical expression, one of narrowed eyes and pursed lips. And it ensures to you that you have successfully pulled off the 'dressing down' bit.

She silently consents to you going out in such a bourgeois fashion but as the elevator doors slide shut, you hear her call out, "It's going to be cold, Blair."

- - -

When you open the door to her town car she gives you a quick look-over.

"Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?" her eyes landing fondly on your canvas shoes, probably in pleasant surprise.

She's wearing an Arcade fire shirt (well, Dan's rubbing off on her), denim jeans, and Vans slip-ons. You never thought anyone could look so damn fine in 'normal'.

"What did you do with mine?" you fire back smartly.

Once you're in the car, she throws a sweater onto your lap. You hold it out in front of you and in a hilarious twist of fate, it happens to be Eric's (yes, the Florida Marlins).

"It's going to be cold, B."

You have a horrifying feeling that your best friend may be possessed by your mother. Cause if Eleanor is possessing Serena or something, then this is getting a little too Freudian.

Cold or not, no way in hell were you going to wear an over-sized sweater…

- - -

The surprise ends up to be a smoky pool hall downtown. Your disparaging gaze sweeps the place over. You thought you said 'something I haven't done before'.

Not 'something that could possibly give me cholera'.

"So far so good?" She looks expectantly at you, waiting for any type of reaction.

More like you couldn't go any further but…

"Yeah, s'alright." You lie like the pro you are.

She tells you to wait by the free pool table, with the balls already racked up. Then she goes over to the rack of pool sticks.

It surprises you how well she moves around the place, around somewhere so undeserving of her footsteps.

"Dan brought me here on our first date. And since then, we've been playing a lot and I've gotten better." She narrates, walking over to the rack of pool sticks and taking two out.

You give her a 'you've got to be kidding me' look.

"Fine. At least I _think_ I've gotten better. At least good enough to actually teach you how to play." She says, handing you one of the pool sticks.

Serena bends over to position her whole 'stick-self' setup in front of the cue ball. Then she breaks it and the many-colored balls move across the green table, a six falling into a pocket.

She's probably quoting Dan when she says, "Pool is all about angles. The right angles."

"Just watch until I let you hit the last one." Serena instructs, briefly, concentrating on the cue ball.

And you do as she says. You _watch_ as her shirt rides up a little because of her bent position and you can't help but stare at the exposed small of her back. Then she sends the one whizzing into a corner pocket.

She knocks them down, one by one. You admit it, she is good. And Dan must've taught her well. But you're sure that he didn't teach her how to be that fucking gorgeous while playing. Each picture of her body hunched over, sexier than the last.

Who would've thought that pool could be such a sexy game?

"Now, you try."

"I'm sorry," you say, snapping out of your boyish, perverted, mindset, "what?"

You realize that besides the cue ball, there was only one other ball left, the nine, the last ball, which you, hypothetically speaking, are supposed to hit.

She shakes her head while chuckling to herself as sets her own pool stick aside and she comes over behind you.

Then her hands are on your waist. It's like her touch sent a telepathic message for you to bend over and you do. You expect that by following her silent request, you'd be rewarding with more touching. But she takes her hands off and it disappoints you momentarily.

You try to hold the thing like how she did it, but honestly, your hands don't really know where they are supposed to be. So the whole thing is pretty embarrassing and your hands are just waiting for more instruction from Miss I-Play-Pool.

Instead, you feel her chest press itself lightly against your back and she maneuvers her left hand so it's positioned in front of yours, holding the stick between her middle and index finger yours on the table while her right hand is near the other end of the stick, placed right behind yours. You can't help but notice that everything's touching.

Great, you like this kind of non-verbal instruction.

"You pull back slowly..." Her voice is like satin as she whispers, her lips barely touching your ear.

Her right hand guides the stick back and yours moves with it.

The verbal part of this isn't that bad either…

"And just follow through." You're surprised by the sudden forward motion of the stick as it hits the cue ball, watching the chain reaction in wonder, the cue ball hitting the nine in a corner pocket.

You are so impressed by her Pool prowess that you don't notice that she isn't near you anymore. Looking over your shoulder, you spot her two steps away. She's looking right back at you in a funny way that makes you feel self-conscious.

She takes the nine out of the pocket and she places it on the table again.

"And you expect me to do that? _Without_ your help?"

It's real effed up the way your voice cracks like Ron in Harry Potter whenever Fred and George make fun of him.

You awkwardly move the stick in between the two prescribed fingers and you thrust it forward until it hits the cue ball. Unfortunately, the cue ball steers of course and it misses the nine-ball by a long-shot.

It's clear, your execution still sucks. But the game you're really playing is different, a game S doesn't even know she's playing.

"Hey, play against me." You suggest.

"Blair, you can't even cue ball to hit anything yet." She tells you, concerned.

"How about I buy you a drink every time you win?" something Chuck would say. God, you were spending too much time with that boy. It's disgusting how much his habits have grown on you.

But everyone knows that Serena won't turn anything down while she's liquored up. She won't even remember it the next day.

"Me playing against a cute girl with a total lack of pool skills? Hmmm, let me think…" her chin propped on her hands that are resting on her pool stick in a thoughtful consideration.

Serena's pre-alcohol smile is unmistakable. You've seen it a million times before.

You have a chance this evening and you are going to take it.

- - -

7 games and vodka martinis later, she starts mistaking the one ball for the cue and ends up pocketing the white ball instead.

"S, that was a scratch." You inform her amusedly.

She tries to stand straight with much difficulty and insists, "No si wasen..."

Yes, that's Serena's trademark drunken drawl.

"I think it's time to go home. Pretty soon, you'll be tripping over yourself…" you say to Serena as you try to talk 'post-drunk' with her.

"Awww, I wanna play s'more…" she slurs, hitting random balls with the one.

"You're already drunk."

She stands straight again, leaning on her pool stick for support, "Well…" she starts and you're just _dying _to find out what clever thing she's going to say as a comeback.

"… you're drunk too."

Wow S, that's just brilliant. But just when you think that it's already her best, she drops the real bomb.

"I mean, you're just… _intoxicated_ by my very presence…" Serena muses, jokingly, slightly stumbling with her stick.

Fuck. She's like… so right.

"You couldn't keep your eyes off of me the whole night…" she continues in a light manner, oblivious to your horror and you could hear your stick drop and clatter to the floor in the background.

You try to laugh it off, "Haha S, very funny. Now, let's go home." You say, trying to take the pool stick out of her hands. But you couldn't budge it, and she tries to pull it back towards her and the next thing you know is that you're playing tug-of-war with a pool stick.

Well, if it gets worse, at least there's insurance…

"Just let go, Serena."

"No, B. _You_ let go." She whines back.

Serena stops struggling against you and you triumphantly take the pool stick away from you. After that, you wonder why she stopped all of a sudden. Then you notice.

It's the song that's playing on the jukebox.

_**Love pull your sore ribs in  
I will pull your tangles out  
In the back of your car I feel like  
I have traveled nowhere**_

"I heard this on Grey's Anatomy one night and I remembered that I love it."

Serena takes your hand and starts dancing, more like moving side to side.

She sings along in her cute and inebriated way, it reminds you how much you love this song too. You remember to hide the pool stick because it's a possible candidate for an improvised microphone. And you don't want her poking her eye out. And she sings:

_**What will bring me home?**_

_**What will make me stay, stay?**_

Because she expects you to sing with her in a drunken (half-drunken) duet, so you do:

_**What will bring me home?**_

_**What will make me stay, stay?**_

She lazily drapes her arms over your shoulders, "Do you know that Tegan and Sara are twins?" and she just doesn't know what kind of effect she has on you.

_**Well, I don't know**_

_**I don't know, oooohhh ohhhh **_(both of you, giggling at the oohhh-ing part)

"Yeah, I know" you answer while trying to even out your breathing, confused with your thoughts and the lyrics.

_**Everything in my body says not tonight,**_

Don't do anything rash, Blair. It's not like you.

Who exactly were you anyway? You couldn't even answer that for yourself.

_**Everything in my body says no**_

You find your voice again, and your hands sneak all the way around her waist, pulling her closer, "Do you know something else about Tegan and Sara?"

_**Everything in my body says not tonight,**_

"What?" she questions in answer, letting her forehead drop gently so it's resting on yours, which you notice is a constant occurrence between the both of you in the past few days. But when her blue orbs look into your eyes like a first-born, hopeful and innocent and amazed, it always feels like a first.

And it is like you're her whole world.

_**Everything in my body says no**_

"They're lesbians."

You are officially losing your mind as of this moment.

You take it all in. Her drunk reaction and surprise at you saying the ever-controversial L word. The pool table, hard against the small of your back. The smoke in the air, the neon lights, to the feel of her lips as you taste them for the first time.

_**What will bring me home?**_

_**What will make me stay… stay?**_

You've kissed Nate before, Chuck even, and a couple of guys here and there just for the kicks of dares. But you're taken aback by how hard your heart was beating against your chest, how hard she's kissing you back, how much you wish that she's meaning this, how much you wish that you didn't (but you know very well that you do), how you couldn't think of anything else but this moment…

You don't know anything anymore…

Just her.

Just _her_.

_**Well, I don't know**_

_**I don't know…**_

Please, work with me people!!! (,)


	6. Intervention

Title: Fictions Are Genius Lies  
Author: dante de cervantes  
Fandom: Gossip Girl  
Pairing: lotsa pairings! But there will be surefire Waldsen!  
Rating: PG-13 (as for now)  
Summary: Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal and bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They're all threads to an intricate web of disaster. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH

Author's Notes: I know it's been forever since my last update… it's just that I've been really, really busy. Hope you guys will forgive me. Anyway, here's chapter 6… Enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I only own the plot and this story… Lovely characters belong to someone else…

**Fictions Are Genius Lies**

_**by dante de cervantes**_

**PART VI: Intervention**

You kick the door to your room open. Her arm is swung over your shoulders and you think that you have forgotten what balance is. You don't even remember how you reached the top of the stairs. As you lay her gently on your bed, the familiar scent of vanilla fills your nostrils and it gives you the kick you needed.

Slip-ons are convenient. You slip hers off just as easily as she slipped them on earlier this evening. Oh, and what an evening it turned out to be.

She's half-asleep when you leave her there so she doesn't notice you taking out a video camera. An uneasy feeling grows in the pit of your stomach as you walk over to the bathroom and place the camera on the counter, where it has a good view of your bed and Serena, not the other way around.

"Blair."

It sounds like a child is calling you, her voice so innocent and fragile.

It makes tears spill down your cheeks because you're going to do such a sick and despicable thing to her. It's like you still have to remind yourself that she's your _best friend_.

You press the record button and the red light goes on.

And you think that this is a multi-level mistake that you can't take back. Then you wipe the tears away and put on a presentable face to show her. A crap mask to fool her, that'll only work when she's drunk as shit.

Which she is right now, the fact made evident by the sight off her trying to kick her shoes off.

"I took your shoes off already, S." you tell her, slightly entertained, an affectionate smile creeping to your lips.

"Why are we in your room?" she muses loudly, sprawled upon your sheets. Your words aren't being processed by her brain anymore.

You sit at the edge of your bed as you see the persistent spark of a red light, glowing in your dark bathroom. Hell, a Waldorf guilt-trip caught on tape? Not even Gossip Girl would believe that.

Your voice is raw and shaking, so fucking _sincere_, as you say, "Because I'm going to take care of you tonight."

You're not sure if you meant that in a sexual way. Or if you are literally going to take care of her.

You planned on going down on her then and there but when you turn around, you see…

The one person who always manages to make you feel utterly happy and loved, liquored out of her mind, unintentionally playing footsie with herself… looking as breathless as ever.

As always.

So if you were going to do something, you were going to do it right. If you can't make her sleep with you while she's sober, then to hell with the bet.

After that, all you can do is crawl right next to her and sob yourself senseless into her shoulder, into her dumb Arcade Fire shirt that just screams Humphrey.

Fuck.

You feel her stiffen in surprise, but she eventually eases into you. She always does.

Serena bends for you.

And although she smells of smoke and substandard liquor, like the pool-house, you still spot the scent of her distinct perfume. The one she's been using since junior high. Ever since you told her she smelled amazing while the two of you hung out at Central Park's Bethesda Terrace Arcade.

* * *

_It's out of blue but you couldn't stop yourself from saying it:_

"I can't help but notice how amazing you smell today."

_An orange Tootsie Pop pops out of her mouth. _

"Really?" _she asks, licking her sticky lips._

_You let out a breath. The act isn't annoyed or superficial or patronizing. You're just a bit let down by her doubt._

"S, did I not make myself clear the first time?"

_She nods slowly, like a child who has learned her lesson after being scolded by her parents. The lollipop is back in place, back in her mouth. She sucks on it with less enthusiasm._

_You feel immediate regret after you realize that you were being cold. Sometimes, the two of you got into fights because you were being so obsessive and proud, being so much like your mother._

_So you need to save the situation. You couldn't have her angry with you._

"Really, you _do_ smell amazing."

_Without bothering to take the Tootsie Pop out of her mouth, she smiles at you. It's sweet. Like you could already taste the Tootsie Roll she was counting her licks to. _

_The last time you checked, it was 128._

_Quick licks, fast and tangy._

_And just when you think that the butterflies have gone, they come back in a fluttering frenzy._

_Fuck puberty._

* * *

The mix of scents is unlikely. Serena only reeks of downtown after she's been with Humphrey. But you don't know about tonight. Cheap cigarettes and cheap alcohol, coupled with something as priceless as van der Woodsen presence?

It baffles you how the both of you ended up having fun in a pool-house _downtown_…

That you ended up kissing her in a pool-house _downtown_.

And what surprises you is that it comforts you in a very bizarre way, akin to Eleanor tucking you in bed at night.

Maybe it's because you felt stripped down. You were at a place where nobody would care if two teenagers who had sexual tension since they were six suddenly making out beside the pool table.

You kissed her. And you liked it. You wanted to, so badly.

You lost control.

You let go of everything.

If you wanted to survive in the world, to live the life that had always been laid out in front of you, you needed to be an invincible, cold-hard fortress.

It's only in her arms that you allow yourself to be weak, to be human.

To be yourself.

Because you know you can count on her to be strong for the both of you.

She senses that her shirt's getting soaked so she asks, "Why are you crying?" in a tone that's concerned but utterly confused.

You try to hold back more tears as you quietly gasp, "Because I think that I'm going to make _you_ cry some day."

She doesn't answer you, doesn't say anything. You know that she's tired.

But you know she's still conscious because her gentle fingers are running through your hair.

"Stop. You're alright now." She says.

It's feeble and weak. But you know just how much effort she put into stringing those four words together.

She's holding you tighter. That compensates for everything else.

The sound of her heart beating in her rising and falling chest, it's what lulls you to sleep.

And you swear, with the last of your waking thoughts, that hers beats just in time with yours.

She wakes up before you do.

"Hey." She greets softly, tucking loose strands of golden hair behind her ear. Now there's nothing covering her perfect set of smiling teeth and her bright blue eyes, looking right at you.

Her full attention, it's almost too much. You love how she looks right now, the pretty blonde mess in the morning. You also love the way she's looking at you, it's like she didn't sleep at all, she just watched over you as you slept for the whole night.

This look, it makes you feel safe. It's a look you want to wake up to… every morning.

The whole effect, it's too beautiful for words.

"Hey yourself." You manage to say anyway. "How's the hangover?"

"Hanging. I'm still a bit…" she trails off.

"Incoherent?" you tease.

"At least I still have my clothes on" she jokes.

You let out a small, nervous laugh, considering the fact that you were almost responsible for the contrary.

The sight you see, when you rudely open the door, happens to be the two of them, lying on the bed… and it's like you can almost see the rainbow-ish lesbian vibe they're letting out.

They're face to face and God… if a ten year-old were to see that instant just before Blair pulled back like a rubber band, he'd bet his money that those two girls were on the verge of making out.

You note that their current apparel is not what you'd imagine them to be usually wearing. You could have passed them on the street and they would look normal. Normal meaning you wouldn't have noticed them if you so happened to be walking down a street.

But Blair and Serena are two very fatally attractive girls. You doubt their capacity for being bourgeoisie even though they're dressed like that.

The point is... UES babies are unmistakable.

And Blair and Serena? They look, they feel, they _are_ Upper East Side.

"My, my… What do we have here? To be honest, it perplexes me that the both of you still have clothes on."

Then you duck since Blair sends a very dangerous-looking stiletto at you. Lethal, very.

Serena's mouth hangs open in astonishment. Perhaps it's because your reflexes were wickedly fast. Or perhaps it is because she finds it unthinkable that her BlairBear would actually try to kill someone (who so happens to be her soon-to-be-step-brother) right in front of her.

"Bass, you are a chauvinist pig who can't even comprehend the simple concept of knocking."

Yes, only Blair Waldorf can put words like 'Bass', 'pig', 'chauvinist' (what the hell does this mean anyway?) together in a sentence and get away with it.

"You know me, I don't knock."

"This isn't your hotel anymore. You can't go barging in on people like that."

"And it's as if I had anything to walk in on…" you tell her smartly.

You hear her gasp and a second later, you feel this _fuckingly-huge_ pain at your shoulder and you curse yourself for forgetting that there are other reasons why stilettos come in pairs.

And apparently, one of those reasons is so that the offended owner of said stilettos has an extra to hurl at the smug asshole of an offender.

Okay, so you won't cross Blair anymore. At least, not in front of Serena.

"Get out. Now." She seethes.

"Okay, okay… But not without her." You tell Blair, motioning your head to Serena.

"Serena, you're supposed to be at our first brunch as an _un_official family."

She seems to be totally unaware of the plan, "You didn't have to come here and pick me up, you know… You could have left me a text or you could have…" she finally finds her phone in her purse on Blair's bedside table "…called." Serena finishes lamely since this is probably the first time she checked her phone in the last 12 hours.

"You haven't answered all the text messages and you weren't picking up the calls. Old man Bart was worried, he got little ole' me to look for you." You explain to her.

Serena can only answer with a soft 'oh'.

She swings her taper-jeaned legs off the bed and she plants her feet on the carpet. While she puts on her Vans she looks over her shoulder to see Blair discreetly fumbling with the sheets, avoiding everyone's gaze.

Serena whips her head back towards you and she asks, "Can Blair come too?"

The brunette's head shoots up in mild alarm at the invitation. Pretty soon she and Serena were having a silent facial battle, the "I'm not going, S." look against Serena's puppy dog "Aww, c'mon Blair." Face.

You could tell who won just by the way brown eyes rolled in submission.

So… Blair and Brunch?

Yes, that was exactly what Chuck Bass had in mind.

* * *

A/N: After months and months of waiting, do you guys still want to send a mob after me? Hehehe.. Kidding! Tell me what you think.. Reviews are very much welcome... )


End file.
